Chapter 124: [124] "The Garonne rematch 1"
Monday night football under the floodlights of Stade Valois carried a distinctly different atmosphere than a weekend fixture. The air was sharper, the darkness beyond the stadium steeper, and the thirty-thousand fans packing the stands were fueled by the frantic, pent-up energy of the beginning of the workweek.
Inside the home locker room, however, the energy was deeply aggressive.
The smell of wintergreen muscle rub hung thick in the air. The clatter of studs against the concrete floor echoed like the loading of heavy artillery.
Coach Henri stood in the center of the room, holding a small notebook that he wasn’t even looking at. He was staring at his players, letting the heavy silence stretch for a full thirty seconds before he finally spoke.
"November 12th," Henri said, his voice quiet but carrying a jagged edge that sliced through the room. "Matchday thirteen. We traveled to their stadium. We were sitting in the top half of the table, feeling good about ourselves. And AS Garonne dragged us into the mud."
Henri began to pace, his eyes locking onto the veterans of that match.
"They didn’t just beat us tactically. They didn’t outplay us. They bullied us," Henri continued, his volume rising. "They kicked our wingers into the advertising boards. They stepped on Hugo’s ankles every time he received the ball. They isolated Luc and battered him for ninety minutes. They won four-nil, and they laughed at us in the tunnel afterward. They called us a soft, technical team that folded the moment the game got physical."
Henri stopped pacing. He turned to Klaus Becker, Bense Baini, Leo Hernandez, and Alex Sordell...the January acquisitions.
"They are looking at the team sheet right now," Henri said, his voice dropping back on the intensity. "And they think they can do it again. They think you are just expensive squad players. They think SC Valois is still a team they can bully."
Henri pointed directly at the locker room door leading out to the tunnel.
"Show them," Henri commanded. "Show them that the team they played in November is dead. Show them what we are now."
Henri walked out.
The locker room remained silent for a heartbeat.
Luc Beaumont stood up. He didn’t shout and he didn’t even need to. His significance in the team, rolling across the room like a physical wave of absolute, uncompromising authority. Every head in the room turned toward him.
"We don’t just beat them tonight," Luc said, his eyes scanning the room, meeting the gaze of every single player. "We humiliate them. We break their spirit. When the final whistle blows, I want them begging to get on their bus. Nobody takes a step backward today. If they hit you, you hit them back twice as hard. Let’s go."
A collective roar erupted from the squad. Klaus Becker slammed his fist into the metal locker. Leo Hernandez pounded his chest. The entire team surged forward, filing out of the locker room as a single, terrifyingly cohesive unit.
In the tunnel, the AS Garonne players were already lined up. They wore their away white kits, looking relaxed, joking with each other. Their captain, a massive center-back who had spent the entire November match leaving late cleats on Luc’s calves, was smirking.
...then, SC Valois walked out.
The joking instantly stopped. The Garonne players turned to look at the team lining up beside them. This wasn’t the fragile, raw squad they remembered.
Klaus Becker stood near the front, his pale blue eyes staring a hole straight through the Garonne midfield players. Leo Hernandez and Amadou Fall stood shoulder-to-shoulder, looking like a pair of elite nightclub bouncers ready to clear a room. And at the front of the line, wearing the captain’s armband, Luc Beaumont stared straight ahead.
The Garonne captain’s smirk vanished.
The referee blew the whistle, and the teams marched out onto the pitch.
The roar of Stade Valois was deafening. The ultras had not forgotten the 4-0 humiliation either. The stadium was entirely draped in black and gold, hostile and baying for blood.
Luc walked to the center circle, took his position, and waited for the referee’s signal.
Piii.
AS Garonne kicked off, immediately attempting to establish the exact same physical tone that had won them the previous match. Their defensive midfielder received the ball, took a heavy touch, and drove it forward toward their target man.
Before the ball could even cross the halfway line, Leo Hernandez stepped out of the defensive line. The ex-Phocéen center-back didn’t try to intercept the ball gracefully. He launched himself through the air, colliding with the Garonne striker in a brutal, mid-air challenge.
Hernandez won the header cleanly, but the follow-through sent the Garonne striker crashing into the turf.
The referee waved play on. It was a perfectly legal, completely devastating display of physical dominance.
"Welcome to Valois!" Hernandez roared, standing over the groaning striker before jogging back to his position.
Garonne was rattled. Within the first ten minutes, they realized the team they thought they could bully was now significantly bigger, meaner, and stronger than they were the last time they squared off.
---
Minute fourteen.
Hugo Blanc received the ball in the central midfield. The teenager had been a primary target for Garonne in November, physically battered until he could barely limp off the pitch. A Garonne midfielder, the same one who had terrorized him months ago and succeeded in injuring him, came sprinting in, launching a sliding tackle aiming to do it again.
But Hugo wasn’t the same player anymore. He didn’t panic or rush a sloppy pass.
With a calm composure, Hugo waited until the very last second, chipped the ball slightly over the incoming cleats, and skipped over the sliding player’s legs. The Garonne midfielder slid helplessly across the grass, completely removed from the play.
Hugo drove into the space, the 4-3-3 formation shifting into overdrive. He slipped a pass wide to Alex Sordell on the left flank.
Sordell took one touch down the line and whipped a vicious, low cross into the penalty area.
To the main man up top, Luc Beaumont.